One more chance
by Fate4Destiny
Summary: FrUk. France x Spain. FACE family. England and France decided to give it one more chance for the sake of their children. Child!Canada. Child!America. Rated M for safety of future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first chapter.**

**pairings: France x Englad, France x Spain. Child!America x England. Child!Canada x Francis. FACE Family**

**please review~!**

The last thing Francis wanted to do was allow his son to learn English. His beautiful, quiet, yet sweet son with silky blond locks and violet eyes which rivalled his father's oceanic eyes when receiving attention from females. Antonio always had a jealous tint when women flocked around Francis as he was 'good with children'. They shot Antonio murderous glances when Lovino shouted curses. The way even Gilbert had a soft side for the little 'birdie'. The last thing Francis would ever want was his sweet angel to become impure.

Francis held Matthew in his arms, the boy hugging the Frenchman and Fancis's nose buried into the sweet smelling hair. Dear god he could die by the sheer love for his child. He had been in countless acts of lust and passion before, love in rare cases, but fatherly love was the one he put his entire heart into.

Yet, he had to put his son's future above his own selfish want to never let go. Worse of all, it wasn't even because Matthew was growing up. No, Matthew and his twin brother, Alfred, had begged their guardians that they could live together. At first, Alfred's guardian, Arthur, and France were at each other's throat. And they still were. But they knew it was the only way to make their children happy.

But problems were sure to arise simply from their visits. Matthew only spoke French, and Alfred only spoke English. Arthur and Francis couldn't see each other or else they'd start screaming at each other, insulting the other's way of doing things and therefor the other's child.

They also came across the decision that neither would give their child up to live with the other. So they- with all the resentment of the idea thicker then their blood- had to live together.

They had done so before, and it didn't end well. That was how the twins had first got separated.

This time they would meet at Francis's home to discuss where they'd live. Francis was swaying his child softly when the door was knocked on. He gave Matthew to nearby Antonio who had decided to act like a peacekeeper. Francis swore it was the only way Matthew could be prevented from witnessing a very bloody murder.

Francis opened the door to reveal Arthur holding a squirming and kicking Alfred. Arthur but Alfred down softly, a move even Francis saw care in. But Alfred didn't care as he ripped through the house past Francis's legs.

Francis ignored the child briefly and looked up at England. The emerald eyes were as strict as usual and fed up with the world. He wore a black jacket over his clothes which was damp from a light rainfall.

"Arthur, come in,"

Francis moved aside and Arthur grumbled something about having to meet with the 'bloody frog'. It hurt Francis in some parts. When Arthur walked past him without any eye contact, Francis smelt rainwater and tea. It was the scent which Arthur always contained. It was HIS scent. And Francis stood still until it wafted past him and he no longer could smell it.

He then sighed and walked into the living room. He regretted it almost instantly. Antonio was trying to stop a painting from tipping over as it was somehow knocked away from the wall. Arthur was doing a dangerous balancing act over a coffee table, having scent cookies on a tray in scattering direction as he clutched his already trouble-making son.

Francis quickly helped Antonio lower the large painting onto the ground. Antonio murmured an apology and Francis brushed it away.

He grabbed Alfred in a firm grip, feeling the boy yank his hair as Arthur fixed the table. Francis almost felt sorry that Arthur had to endure that every minute of being home. Almost, but not quite so. He was raised by who he was raised.

Once everything seemed stable, Francis looked around for Matthew. He found the small boy curled up behind the couch, a look of fear over the small features. Francis slowly lifted the boy and whispered a few sweet nothings to soothe him. He was unknowing Arthur watched him closely.

The Englishman ignored his face being pulled and yanked as he heard small whispers of Francis's melodic and soothing voice. The way the Frenchman's eyes closed slightly and then how Matthew held the man back. It seemed so... sweet. Sweet and slightly envious.

When Antonio checked up on the violet-eyed boy, his dark brown hair falling over Matthew's head as he checked the young one's expression, a sick feeling entered his stomach.

Antonio murmured a strand of soft Spanish words, making Francis smile and Matthew giggle. How long had the boy known that Spaniard to understand Spanish? But it was more than that which made Arthur feel sick. Antonio and Francis looked like a young couple in love. The way they swooned over Matthew, so close and breathing the same air. And when their hands glided across each other's, the Spaniard orbs of colour glancing up at Francis's through long lashes, Francis felt his heartbeat quicken. Did he never realize how utterly beautiful his friend was? Should he be thinking of those things?

Antonio glanced up at Francis and softly kissed his cheek. Francis was for once, too stunned to move. Antonio let a small blush cover his cheeks, proof he had felt something. Wasn't he just attracted to Arthur? Why would Antonio even do that? Yes, they had hooked up before. But always with Gilbert. How could Antonio do such a thing? How could he make his heart skip a beat when Arthur so close made it speed up?

Francis buried his face into Matthew's hair then quickly spun on his heel. He fled upstairs, murmuring something about putting Matthew to sleep after the shock.

When he got upstairs he fled into his bed like he was once more a young teenager discovering his first love. Matthew curled up next to his father, and Francis hugged him back. It must be so easy for a child, he thought. When you became an adult, for some reason, people expected more from you. What could he say? What could he do? He kept thinking about it until Matthew fell asleep and he too joined into the act which would free him from his worries.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur glared at Antonio, his eyes becoming a deathly mixture of stone coldness. Even Alfred backed away, hiding behind a large flower pot of roses taller than himself.

Arthur watched Antonio smile softly to himself, holding a finger to his lips as if to ravish the flavour left. Arthur heard his blood rush to his ears and he started this conversation the same way he did with Francis.

"You bloody git!"

Antonio's green eyes became wider slightly as he turned to face the Englishman, innocent looking.

"Me?"

"Who in bloody hell would I be screaming at beside you? Why the hell did you kiss him?!"

Antonio nervously put a hand behind his neck and then gave a sheepish laugh.

"Why would a person usually kiss someone? He looked so adorable. He's been my amigos since always. I can't help if I feel something for him... Like you do."

Antonio looked knowingly at Arthur who crossed his arms and gave a huff.

"Don't make up such stories, wanker. I don't feel anything for that frog but hate."

"Sì..."

Antonio gave a nod as if Arthur was a child defending his first school crush.

"But, I am the country of passion. I know when somebody loves somebody. It shows."

With a small smile and a caring glance up the stairs at where Francis had last been seen, Antonio walked past Arthur. Before heading out the door, he had one more thing to say.

"Tell Francis I'll see him in a few days... And if you confess, I won't be jealous."

With a smile radiating a friendly joy, Antonio left the house. Arthur's harsh expression only fell after the door was closed. His shoulders dropped and he rubbed his eyes.

He felt Alfred take his hand, giving it a cheerful yank.

"Can I see Mattie some more? We didn't get to play yet."

With a tired sigh- drained emotionally- Arthur grasped the boy who no longer kicked and yanked his hair out. He then went upstairs. He softly rapped his knuckles against the door to the master bedroom then opened it. Francis had changed the bedroom scheme, again. It had deep red walls, and polished wood furniture. He noticed drawings of maple leaves- probably from Matthew- and the leaf design stencilled onto the walls with strands of other colours- obviously Francis's artistic work. He had made the romantic colour feel so homey.

Alfred had crawled onto the bed, looking at a sleeping Matthew. And like the hero he was, he pulled Matthew away from the arms of the 'bloody git', and then hugged his twin. Matthew rolled over and curled up with his beloved pure white teddy bear. The two boys fell asleep, both needing a nap anyways.

Arthur walked up to Francis who shifted without the body heat. To be fair, he usually had a source of it. Be it from Matthew or a lover, he hardly slept alone. Arthur remembered times he couldn't leave to use the bathroom in the night without returning to find Francis up.

Francis saw a figure above him in dim lights and he reached out. Finally clutching the source of that addicting scent which taunted him all evening, he pulled it downwards.

"Arthur, come back to bed."

Arthur gave a surprised gasp as he was forcefully pulled onto the bed. He felt Francis sleepily wrap his arms around his waist, burying his silky blond hair into Arthur's neck. And then promptly went back to sleep, his breathing falling into the soothing pattern like French fields of lilacs swaying in the wind.

Arthur couldn't say it felt bad, feeling the breath on his neck and once more having Francis over top of him. It's not like he could move anyways, Francis had a killer grip when he wanted to...

Arthur put his arms around Francis's neck and hooked a leg over the Frenchman's. Arthur felt a sleepy good night kiss on his neck as all four- a family once more- went to sleep.

**A/N: cause the sleeping scenes are the cutest! Go google pictures of the FACE family and you'll find all these ones of them sleeping together (in a family way, of course .)**

**Oh, and depending on how long I make this story, Antonio may or may not make a comeback. It's like I'm mixing two stories into one with him. **

**I know it's short, but I'm laying the edges of the puzzle down first.**

**PLEASE REVIEW~!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: so I am horrible at updating... Sorry... Procrastination and then I don't know, laziness...?**

**This chapter will be more England since the first was gushing about France and somehow Spain stole most of the attention in my mind. As Lovino would say, "stupid bastard Spain"...**

**Also, apologies if it's too short. But that's how the scene ended up being. **

**Please review! I'm serious about that. Like, I'll take over France and destroy it if you don't.**

**France: why me, chèrie? Why not that stupid angleterre?**

**Me: Because I want a *cough*fun*cough* prisoner.**

**France: Prisoner of love~**

**Me: *cue frying-pan-hit from Hungary!* ... Love you to, Francis... **

~XxX~

Arthur woke to find himself in an almost empty bedroom. Only Alfred was with him, but somehow must have fallen off the bed during the night. Argue let out a small groan, wether from that French git seeing him in the bed already or from losing that French git was unknown. But they both involved that 'Frenh git'.

He paused briefly over that. How much time did he spend thinking about that French nation? Centuries now, over wars, love... their children nowadays. They were worse then an old married couple, he thought bitterly.

He pulled himself out of the bed, yawning a bit before waking up the American. Alfred sleepily turned around then went back to sleep. No matter how hard he could try, Alfred knew it was futile. He'd have a better chance fighting Russia and China both at once. So with a deep sigh he got himself suitable for the day. He'd have to suffice in his clothes from the day before, no way would he touch those French clothes.

He went down the stairs to be hit by an assortment of smells. Sweet, buttery pastries, the scent of their fruit centres, freshly brewed coffee. His mouth watered from it and he tried to suppress the growling in his stomach at the though of Francis's fabulous (not that he would admit to it) cooking.

He found Francis feeding an already awake and dressed Matthew a bit of a steaming pastry. Keeping his presence unknown to the two others, he watched the young boy eat it and smile sweetly. The boy was surely more happy with Francis then he could ever be with him. Why was he even caring to stay around anyways?

His answer came when he saw Francis lick his lips clean off whipped cream. Could he do it even more seductively? The way his tongue passed his rose soft lips, his lips make a popping sound as he finished cleaning them. Matthew giggled at the odd sound and Francis gave him a kiss on his cheek with his sugary sweet lips. Matthew was silent as Francis's lips travelled to the sides of his mouth. Matthew licked the sides of his mouth and Francis waited for a reaction. When Matthew looked up for more, Francis moved forward.

His lips (and mouth and nose) met with a cookie sheet. He gave an incoherent mumble mixed whimper, holding a hand to his bleeding nose. His eyes darted towards Arthur and he narrowed his eyes briefly. He had vowed to make a decent beginning, hence why he woke so early to make breakfast, but that was too much. Who was that Angleterre to deny a colony of romance (as he was the country of romance) of, well, romance? That and he had been waiting for awhile for Matthew to show back his love out of his cute childish ways.

"You're a pervert. Don't molest you own son, damn it."

"Moi? You're the one who's practically neglecting your child."

"He doesn't like me anyways-!"

Arthur bit down on his lower lip with such force he broke it open. Blood wet his tongue as he glanced at Francis. He then stepped backwards, wiping his lip clean of the coppery substance with his sleeve. He couldn't believe he just said that. Yes, it was true. But Francis was an enemy... Yes, that's what he was. An enemy.

Arthur continued walking backwards until he turned around and ran up the stairs. He wouldn't let Francis win against him! He wouldn't let America leave British rule. He wouldn't... act upon his love... Because they were enemies... But it made no sense in his mind. Enemies yet he loved him...

His thoughts were allowed to fade when he scooped the representation of America up. He was still dead asleep when his small body was carried downstairs. He opened his blue eyes briefly to notice that Matthew looked sad.

"Why are you sad, the hero's here..."

He reached out a small hand but felt Arthur slap it away. He heard insults be yelled at each other in both French and English, but he only could look at his brother.

"Mattie..."

"Alf..."

Matthew was about to go and run towards Alfred when he was snatched up my the Frenchman's arms. He couldn't reach his brother anymore soon after.

Arthur carried his young colony outside into the light drizzle which seemed to follow him anywhere those days. He wrapped Alfred up in his own, much too large for the boy, raincoat. He then held the colony close as he walked away from that house, away from the French territory.

Alfred screamed for his brother, and Francis's harsh voice reprimanding Matthew for the Canadian's own outburst- just faint whispers now from the distance between them. When Alfred's voice was hoarse he pushed Arthur away. He walked besides the Englishman, his arms wrapped around himself, dragging the tails of the coat behind him. His feet had to run quite quickly to catch up, but when he tripped Arthur was always offering him help. He only wished Matthew was there with him so they could balance on each other. He didn't want to rely on somebody. Much like his predecessor and father.

**A/N: alright, next chapter I'll try less of the characters thinking and more action!**

**Again, sorry for taking so long to update. **

**Reviews~?**

**... Now that I put this in fanfiction format, it seems much shorter...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: short, I know. This is more of a connecting piece.**

**Anyways, please enjoy and review.**

~XxX~

Arthur sat alone on a chair which once proved comfort. A cup of tea- now cold- was at his side as the rain drizzled outside. England had never been a cheerful place. Quite the opposite, actually. Conquering, yes, but also losing. Each of his children or little siblings were ones he raised as his own. He knew perhaps he wasn't the best father, but he tried as hard as he possibly could.

When the sound of something crashing and a cheerful 'I'm a hero~!' filled the air, Arthur groaned into the palm of his hands. But until Alfred did take his own path, he had to responsible. But he dreaded the day that attitude would be turned against him in Alfred's teenage-rebellion years. His head hurt just thinking about it.

~XxX~

Francis watched the winds shake the French grape vines in France like they were his own emotions of confusion. And they were. The wind, that is, not the grape vines.

Matthew was laying on him, in a half-state of a much delayed afternoon nap. But the boy wouldn't smile anymore. His violet eyes were never without a tear slipping from them and Francis's sleeve was damp from wiping them all away.

"Matthieu, je ne-"

"I don't wanna talk French. I wanna talk English. With Alfred."

Matthew pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a manner that was just too cute. With a heavy sigh Francis shifted them so they sat up properly. He then sat up, having Matthew in his arms to carry as usual.

"What would make you happy, mon cheri. Pancakes? Taking a nap?"

"I want to tell Alfred I'm sorry."

"But you did nothing wrong-"

"I made him sad."

Matthew's voice was soft and Francis gave a small nod. Matthew would always be the one to be polite.

"I don't think they'd want to come back over if we invite them over though... Perhaps another time-"

Francis slowly urged him away from the idea, not exactly pleased at seeing Arthur again.

"Send Pierre."

"Ah, oui... Send Pierre..."

How could the boy make it seem so easy? Regardless, he did agree, even if it was with sarcasm. Sitting at his desk he found a pen and paper and began writing.

Angleterre, your food sucks-

"Papa! That isn't nice. Erase it!"

"But it's honesty!"

~XxX~

Arthur heard a flutter and he looked up to see a familiar white bird. Was that wanker sending his usual declaration of war?

Arthur heaved himself up from his well-worn chair and picked the letter up. He then opened it to see childish writing. Thank god he taught Matthew to write in English. Though the grammar and spelling was horrible.

Arter, plesae came ovur. I'm sory. -Matthew

And then it was proper manners- which he tried to influence both boys in- which made him send back a reply.

Dear Matthew (not Francis- go away, bloody wanker!),

Thank you for the letter. I'm not upset at you. You did nothing wrong. It's all Francis's fault. It always is. For the last couple of centuries, it has been his fault.

This time, why don't you come over to my place? We'll spend the day outside, so bring an umbrella. And don't worry, love, you don't seem to grow up to be like Francis.

With sincere regards, Arthur Kirkland.

PS: Dear Francis, don't make your kid do all your dirty work. Is that how you win over women?

~XxX~

"Mon Dieu! He's ruder then Alfred at times!"

"Papa, can we go-?"

"And he says sending him a letter is dirty work!"

"Papa, do we own an umbrella-?"

"The nerve!"

Matthew said nothing and began to walk down the hall, crawling into his closet for the search of an umbrella. He found tons of winter clothes, but so far no umbrellas. But he was a determined colony. So he continued to search while Francis threw insults left, right, and centre. Oh well, that was his family. And he loved them all regardless of their hate for each other.


End file.
